The next day at breakfast, the atmosphere in the Great Hall was tense. Johnny sat at the Slytherin table, Daphne, Theo, and Blaise opposite him. Pansy had taken a seat next to Johnny, her presence a constant reassurance.

As they waited for the morning meal to be served, Pansy kept a watchful eye on Johnny, her gaze filled with concern. She could sense the weight that he carried, the fear and uncertainty that lingered in his eyes. She knew that he needed their support now more than ever.

Daphne, Theo, and Blaise also maintained a close proximity to Johnny, their determination evident in their expressions.

The other students in the Great Hall cast curious glances in their direction, whispering among themselves. The news of Johnny's involvement in the recent events had spread like wildfire, and everyone seemed to have an opinion on the matter.

But amidst the whispers and judgment, Johnny's friends stood by him unwaveringly.

As plates of scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast appeared before them, the group kept their focus on Johnny. Pansy made sure he ate, gently encouraging him to take small bites, while Daphne, Theo, and Blaise engaged him in light conversation, trying to distract him from the weight of the accusations.

The minutes ticked by, and soon it was time for their History of Magic class. The group gathered their belongings and made their way towards the classroom, Pansy's hand still firmly clasped around Johnny's.

Entering the History of Magic classroom, they took their seats, with Pansy settling next to Johnny once again. The room buzzed with whispers as their classmates observed their united front.

Professor Binns, the ghostly History of Magic teacher, floated into the room and began his monotonous lecture. But Johnny's mind was elsewhere, consumed by thoughts of the dark magic that had possessed him and the desperate need to clear his name.

History of Magic was the dullest subject on their schedule. Professor Binns, who taught it, was their only ghost teacher, and the most exciting thing that ever happened in his classes was his entering the room through the blackboard. Ancient and shriveled, many people said he hadn't noticed he was dead. He had simply got up to teach one day and left his body behind him in an armchair in front of the staff room fire; his routine had not varied in the slightest since.

Today was as boring as ever. Professor Binns opened his notes and began to read in a flat drone like an old vacuum cleaner until nearly everyone in the class was in a deep stupor, occasionally coming to long enough to copy down a name or date, then falling asleep again. He had been speaking for half an hour when something happened that had never happened before. Granger put up her hand. Johnny was sat in between Blaise and Pansy, fast asleep when Pansy nudged him to listen.

Professor Binns, glancing up in the middle of a deadly dull lecture on the International Warlock Convention of 1289, looked amazed.

"Miss - er -?"

"Granger, Professor. I was wondering if you could tell us anything about the Chamber of Secrets," said Granger in a clear voice.

Dean, who had been sitting with his mouth hanging open, gazing out of the window, jerked out of his trance; Lavender Brown's head came up off her arms and Neville's elbow slipped off his desk.

Professor Binns blinked.

"My subject is History of Magic," he said in his dry, wheezy voice. "I deal with facts, Miss Granger, not myths and legends." He cleared his throat with a small noise like chalk slipping and continued, "In September of that year, a subcommittee of Sardinian sorcerers--"

He stuttered to a halt. Granger's hand was waving in the air again.

"Miss Grant?" Pansy snorted.

"Please, sir, don't legends always have a basis in fact?"

Professor Binns was looking at her in such amazement, Johnny was sure no student had ever interrupted him before, alive or dead.

"Well," said Professor Binns slowly, "yes, one could argue that, I suppose." He peered at Granger as though he had never seen a student properly before. "However, the legend of which you speak is such a very sensational , even ludicrous tale--"

But the whole class was now hanging on Professor Binns's every word. He looked dimly at them all, every face turned to his. Johnny could tell he was completely thrown by such an unusual show of interest.

"Oh, very well," he said slowly. "Let me see... the Chamber of Secrets..."

"You all know, of course, that Hogwarts was founded over a thousand years ago - the precise date is uncertain - by the four greatest witches and wizards of the age. The four school Houses are named after them: Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin. They built this castle together, far from prying Muggle eyes, for it was an age when magic was feared by common people, and witches and wizards suffered much persecution."

He paused, gazed blearily around the room, and continued.

"For a few years, the founders worked in harmony together, seeking out youngsters who showed signs of magic and bringing them to the castle to be educated. But then disagreements sprang up between them. A rift began to grow between Slytherin and the others. Slytherin wished to be more selective about the students admitted to Hogwarts. He believed that magical learning should be kept within all-magic families. He disliked taking students of Muggle parentage, believing them to be untrustworthy. After a while, there was a serious argument on the subject between Slytherin and Gryffindor, and Slytherin left the school."

Professor Binns paused again, pursing his lips, looking like a wrinkled old tortoise.

"Reliable historical sources tell us this much," he said. "But these honest facts have been obscured by the fanciful legend of the Chamber of Secrets. The story goes that Slytherin had built a hidden chamber in the castle, of which the other founders knew nothing.

"Slytherin, according to the legend, sealed the Chamber of Secrets so that none would be able to open it until his own true heir arrived at the school. The heir alone would be able to unseal the Chamber of Secrets, unleash the horror within, and use it to purge the school of all who were unworthy to study magic."

There was silence as he finished telling the story, but it wasn't the usual, sleepy silence that filled Professor Binns's classes. There was unease in the air as everyone continued to watch him or glance at Johnny uneasily, hoping for more. Professor Binns looked faintly annoyed.

"The whole thing is arrant nonsense, of course," he said. "Naturally, the school has been searched for evidence of such a chamber, many times, by the most learned witches and wizards. It does not exist. A tale told to frighten the gullible."

Granger's hand was back in the air.

"Sir - what exactly do you mean by the horror within'the Chamber?"

"That is believed to be some sort of monster, which the Heir of Slytherin alone can control," said Professor Binns in his dry, reedy voice.

The class exchanged nervous looks at Johnny.

"I tell you, the thing does not exist," said Professor Binns, shuffling his notes. "There is no Chamber and no monster."

"But, sir," said Seamus Finnigan, "if the Chamber can only be opened by Slytherin's true heir, no one else would be able to find it, would they?"

"Nonsense, O'Flaherty," said Professor Binns in an aggravated tone. "If a long succession of Hogwarts headmasters and headmistresses haven't found the thing--"

"But, Professor," piped up Parvati Patil, "you'd probably have to use Dark Magic to open it--"

"Just because a wizard doesn't use Dark Magic doesn't mean he can't , Miss Pennyfeather," snapped Professor Binns. "I repeat, if the likes of Dumbledore--"

"But maybe you've got to be related to Slytherin, so Dumbledore couldn't -" began Dean Thomas, but Professor Binns had had enough.

"That will do," he said sharply. "It is a myth! It does not exist! There is not a shred of evidence that Slytherin ever built so much as a secret broom cupboard! I regret telling you such a foolish story! We will return, if you please, to history, to solid, believable, verifiable fact!"

Johnny woke early on Saturday morning and lay for a while thinking about the coming Quidditch match. He was nervous, mainly at the thought of what Flint would say if Slytherin lost. He had never wanted to beat Gryffindor so badly. After half an hour of lying there with his insides churning, he got up, dressed, and went down to breakfast early, where he found the rest of the Slytherin team huddled at the long, empty table, all looking uptight and not speaking much.

As eleven o'clock approached, the whole school started to make its way down to the Quidditch stadium. It was a muggy sort of day with a hint of thunder in the air. Blaise, Theo, Daphne and Pansy came hurrying over to wish Johnny good luck as he entered the locker rooms. The team pulled on their green Slytherin robes, then sat down to listen to Flint's usual pre-match pep talk.

Chest heaving with emotion, Flint turned to Johnny.

"It'll be down to you, Johnny boy, to show them that a Seeker has to have something more than a famous name. Get to that Snitch before Potter or die trying, Johnny, because we've got to win today, we've got to."

"So no pressure, Johnny," said Blaise, winking at him.

As they walked out onto the pitch, a roar of noise greeted them; mainly boo's, because Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were anxious to see Slytherin beaten, but the Slytherins in the crowd made their cheers and hisses heard, too. Madam Hooch, the Quidditch teacher, asked Flint and Wood to shake hands, which they did, giving each other threatening stares and gripping rather harder than was necessary.

"On my whistle," said Madam Hooch. "Three... two... one..."

With a roar from the crowd to speed them upward, the fourteen players rose toward the leaden sky. Johnny flew higher than any of them, squinting around for the Snitch.

"All right there, Potter?" yelled Johnny, shooting underneath Potter as though to show off the speed of his broom.

Harry had no time to reply. At that very moment, a heavy black Bludger came pelting toward him; he avoided it so narrowly that he felt it ruffle his hair as it passed.

"Close one, Harry!" said George Weasley, streaking past him with his club in his hand, ready to knock the Bludger back toward a Slytherin. Potter saw George give the Bludger a powerful whack in the direction of Adrian Pucey, but the Bludger changed direction in midair and shot straight for Potter again.

Potter dropped quickly to avoid it, and Weasley managed to hit it hard toward Johnny. Once again, the Bludger swerved like a boomerang and shot at Potter's head. However there was a loud gasp as the Bludger still hit its intended target of Johnny as it spun round.

Even over the loud noise of the crowd, Harry could hear the sickening crack of Johnny's skull and Pansy Parkinson's distraught screams as Madam Hooch stopped the game for a brief moment as Johnny fell forty feet to the floor.

The Quidditch stadium fell into a stunned silence as Johnny plummeted to the ground, his body limp and motionless. Panic and fear gripped the spectators, and the match was momentarily forgotten as everyone rushed to the fallen Slytherin Seeker.

Madam Hooch, with her expertise in healing spells, quickly assessed Johnny's injuries. She cast a series of spells to stabilise his condition and ensure he was breathing. The extent of his injury was evident, and it was clear that he needed immediate medical attention.

The school nurse was summoned, and with the help of several members of staff, they carefully levitated Johnny's body onto a stretcher and hurriedly carried him towards the castle. Pansy, her face etched with worry and tears streaming down her cheeks, ran alongside the stretcher, refusing to leave Johnny's side.

Word of the accident spread like wildfire throughout Hogwarts, reaching the ears of the teachers, the other houses, and even the staff who weren't in attendance. Yet the match still went on, with Slytherin's reserve Seeker catching the Snitch from Harry's grasp to win the match for Slytherin. Harry, however sustained a broken arm due to the rogue Bludger that injured Johnny.

Night had fallen now, and a still sobbing Pansy was escorted out of the Hospital Wing by the group of Slytherin's that surrounded Johnny's bed. Harry watched curiously as Johnny's body began to twitch the moment they had left.

Hours and hours later, Harry woke quite suddenly in the pitch blackness and gave a small yelp of pain: His arm now felt full of large splinters. For a second, he thought that was what had woken him. Then, with a thrill of horror, he realised that someone was sponging his forehead in the dark.

"Get off!" he said loudly, and then, "Dobby!"

The house-elf's goggling tennis ball eyes were peering at Harry through the darkness. A single tear was running down his long, pointed nose.

"Harry Potter came back to school," he whispered miserably. "Dobby warned and warned Harry Potter. Ah sir, why didn't you heed Dobby? Why didn't Harry Potter go back home when he missed the train?"

Harry heaved himself up on his pillows and pushed Dobby's sponge away.

"What're you doing here?" he said. "And how did you know I missed the train?"

Dobby's lip trembled and Harry was seized by a sudden suspicion.

"It was you!" he said slowly. "You stopped the barrier from letting us through!"

"Indeed yes, sir," said Dobby, nodding his head vigorously, ears flapping. "Dobby hid and watched for Harry Potter and sealed the gateway and Dobby had to iron his hands afterward" - he showed Harry ten long, bandaged fingers - "but Dobby didn't care, sir, for he thought Harry Potter was safe, and never did Dobby dream that Harry Potter would get to school another way!"

He was rocking backward and forward, shaking his ugly head.

"Dobby was so shocked when he heard Harry Potter was back at Hogwarts, he let his master's dinner burn! Such a flogging Dobby never had, sir..."

Harry slumped back onto his pillows.

"You nearly got Ron, Monty and me expelled," he said fiercely. "You'd better get lost before my bones come back, Dobby, or I might strangle you."

Dobby smiled weakly.

"Dobby is used to death threats, sir. Dobby gets them five times a day at home."

He blew his nose on a corner of the filthy pillowcase he wore, looking so pathetic that Harry felt his anger ebb away in spite of himself.

"Why d'you wear that thing, Dobby?" he asked curiously.

"This, sir?" said Dobby, plucking at the pillowcase. "Tis a mark of the house-elf's enslavement, sir. Dobby can only be freed if his masters present him with clothes, sir. The family is careful not to pass Dobby even a sock, sir, for then he would be free to leave their house forever."

Dobby mopped his bulging eyes and said suddenly, "Harry Potter must go home! Dobby thought his Bludger would be enough to make--"

"Your Bludger?" said Harry, anger rising once more. "What d'you mean, your Bludger? You made that Bludger try and kill me and Grindelwald?" They both looked at the boy in question. Johnny was still asleep, though still twitching.

"Not kill you, sir, never kill you!" said Dobby, shocked. "Dobby wants to save Harry Potter's life! Better sent home, grievously injured, than remain here sir! Dobby only wanted Harry Potter hurt enough to be sent home!"

"Oh, is that all?" said Harry angrily. "I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you wanted me sent home in pieces?"

"Ah, if Harry Potter only knew!" Dobby groaned, more tears dripping onto his ragged pillowcase. "If he knew what he means to us, to the lowly, the enslaved, we dregs of the magical world! Dobby remembers how it was when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was at the height of his powers, sir! We house-elves were treated like vermin, sir! Of course, Dobby is still treated like that, sir," he admitted, drying his face on the pillowcase. "But mostly, sir, life has improved for my kind since you triumphed over He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Harry Potter survived, and the Dark Lord's power was broken, and it was a new dawn, sir, and Harry Potter shone like a beacon of hope for those of us who thought the Dark days would never end, sit... And now, at Hogwarts, terrible things are to happen, are perhaps happening already, and Dobby cannot let Harry Potter stay here now that history is to repeat itself, now that the Chamber of Secrets is open once more."

Dobby froze, horrorstruck, then grabbed Harry's water jug from his bedside table and cracked it over his own head, toppling out of sight. A second later, he crawled back onto the bed, cross-eyed, muttering, "Bad Dobby, very bad Dobby..."

"So there is a Chamber of Secrets?" Harry whispered. "And did you say it's been opened before? Tell me, Dobby!"

He seized the elf's bony wrist as Dobby's hand inched toward the water jug. "But I'm not Muggle-born - how can I be in danger from the Chamber?"

"Ah, sir, ask no more, ask no more of poor Dobby," stammered the elf, his eyes huge in the dark. "Dark deeds are planned in this place, but Harry Potter must not be here when they happen - go home, Harry Potter, go home. Harry Potter must not meddle in this, sir, tis too dangerous--"

"Who is it, Dobby?" Harry said, keeping a firm hold on Dobby's wrist to stop him from hitting himself with the water jug again. "Who's opened it this time? Who opened it last time?"

"Dobby can't, sir, Dobby can't, Dobby mustn't tell!" squealed the elf. "Go home, Harry Potter, go home!"

"I'm not going anywhere!" said Harry fiercely. "One of my best friends is Muggle-born; she'll be first in line if the Chamber really has been opened--"

"Harry Potter risks his own life for his friends!" moaned Dobby in a kind of miserable ecstasy. "So noble! So valiant! But he must save himself, he must, Harry Potter must not--"

Dobby suddenly froze, his bat ears quivering. Harry heard it, too. There were footsteps coming down the passageway outside.

"Dobby must go!" breathed the elf, terrified. There was a loud crack, and Harry's fist was suddenly clenched on thin air. He slumped back into bed, his eyes on the dark doorway to the hospital wing as the footsteps drew nearer. He noticed Johnny's twitching stop at once.

Next moment, Dumbledore was backing into the dormitory, wearing a long woolly dressing gown and a nightcap. He was carrying one end of what looked like a statue. Professor McGonagall appeared a second later, carrying its feet. Together, they heaved it onto a bed.

"Get Madam Pomfrey," whispered Dumbledore, and Professor McGonagall hurried past the end of Harry's bed out of sight. Harry lay quite still, pretending to be asleep. He heard urgent voices, and then Professor McGonagall swept back into view, closely followed by Madam Pomfrey, who was pulling a cardigan on over her nightdress. He heard a sharp intake of breath.

"What happened?" Madam Pomfrey whispered to Dumbledore, bending over the statue on the bed.

"Another attack," said Dumbledore. "Minerva found him on the stairs."

"There was a bunch of grapes next to him," said Professor McGonagall. "We think he was trying to sneak up here to visit Potter."

Harry's stomach gave a horrible lurch. Slowly and carefully, he raised himself a few inches so he could look at the statue on the bed. A ray of moonlight lay across its staring face.

It was Colin Creevey. His eyes were wide and his hands were stuck up in front of him, holding his camera.

"Petrified?" whispered Madam Pomfrey.

"Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "But I shudder to think... If Albus hadn't been on the way downstairs for hot chocolate - who knows what might have--"

The three of them stared down at Colin. Then Dumbledore leaned forward and wrenched the camera out of Colin's rigid grip.

"You don't think he managed to get a picture of his attacker?" said Professor McGonagall eagerly.

Dumbledore didn't answer. He opened the back of the camera.

"Good gracious!" said Madam Pomfrey.

A jet of steam had hissed out of the camera. Harry, three beds away, caught the acrid smell of burnt plastic.

"Melted," said Madam Pomfrey wonderingly. "All melted..."

"What does this mean, Albus?" Professor McGonagall asked urgently.

"It means," said Dumbledore, "that the Chamber of Secrets is indeed open again."

Madam Pomfrey clapped a hand to her mouth. Professor McGonagall stared at Dumbledore.

"But, Albus... surely... who?"

"The question is not who," said Dumbledore, his eyes on Johnny in the bed a few down. "The question is, how..." And from what Harry could see of Professor McGonagall's shadowy face, she didn't understand this any better than he did.